Orangemoon.

The seasons were latent in the Basin, as subtle as the passing of the local fauna or the collection of snow into mounds. Evergreens did not subside nor submit to the changing whims of the Earth Lord, forever resplendent in their greenery, proffering shelter and concealing the translucent vicissitudinous of the whimsical seasons and their effects. But the powdered coral dame knew in the depths of her intrinsical mind, in a sardonic corner far from the mirage of sweetness upon her shapely features, that midnight dulled and suppressed all that sought to overcome it in daytime hours. Dusk brought relief, freedom. No duties were placed upon her shoulders while Arya was reliant upon her presence for survival, and no companions had truly been crafted through bond of any sort. It led to silence accompanied only by the shuffling of her inquisitive babe and words crafted from her own silver tongue, barbed edges dismantled in favor of ambrosia sweet confessions when whispering into dusky coral aurals so alike her own.

Exhaustion crept upon her soul like a sloth, persistent but lethargic as it dragged her down a path of sleepless nights and lurid days. Solitude was not something she often longed for, yet the new mother was reticent in her contemplations of slumbering alongside her foal. Awareness was not a trait easily discarded after moons of wild lands and the wary creeping of suspicion and paranoia a constant companion, unwanted baggage to be carried around by outcasts. In time it would pass, her customary slumbering habits restored with the constant reminders of her safety within the herdland. Until then, she would sleeplessly wander the starlit snowdrifts of the aurora's lands.

Cold clung to a hide accustomed to temperate forests, chilling to the bone in a way yet unhardened to. Shivering along the length of salacious curves dipped and sponged in carnation and cream, ivory dancers turned to draw length along the well-traversed path to the steaming pools that fought away the bite of the frost. Stone greeted her passing in symphonic harmonies that rang crisply through the nigh stifling silence of the slumbering glacier land, a rhythmic arrival into the steaming pools.

Sighing in bliss, watching her breath clouds merge with those of the steam, the young maiden stepped slowly into the pool. Warmth lapped at her sides, tresses floating atop the water in a glittering cloud of gold and silver, illuminated by the pin prick starlight overhead and shrouded in steam. Humming softly to herself, confidence swelled in the silence that guaranteed no audience. Soft, silken voice began to take form in the fissures of the broken soundlessness. Euphonious and intrinsic, it beckoned any who had the pleasure of hearing it to the pool lit like ink with dancing silver couples swaying across its expanse. To the champagne and carnation maid composing a siren song in the waters sailors would have once done well to fear.

I'm not a girl, I'm storm with skin